They are accepting non-fiction, fiction, and blog-style posts on this platform – it was very easy for me to submit my work. It looks like there is also a possibility to earn money from posts, based on how many views or how much interest they generate.

I will post later about payment and my experiences – but first I need people to go read my one-act play called Empty Coffee Cup.

It features a conversation between an artist and his future self regarding the girl he hasn’t yet met. Fellow writers who’ve read through my edits and rewrites have given me very positive feedback – I hope you enjoy it too!

]]>http://www.tccedwards.com/that-was-fast-omni-media-just-published-a-play-i-wrote/feed/0584The Faces They Wore (Part 4)http://www.tccedwards.com/the-faces-they-wore-part-4/
http://www.tccedwards.com/the-faces-they-wore-part-4/#respondWed, 07 Dec 2016 13:00:32 +0000http://www.tccedwards.com/?p=560And now, the fourth and final part of The Faces They Wore.

Today, I conclude The Faces They Wore, part of Nothing Too Familiar by the Busan Writing Group. In the last part, Angelina came home with a bruise on her face. Daniel urged her to quit her night job, refusing to talk to her. After their fight, Angelina came to his bed, where they stayed together in a platonic embrace.

The Faces They Wore by TCC Edwards

Part 4 of 4

Angelina stood in the steam issuing from the open door. She had her clothes on, apparently having undressed and dressed again in the tiny space between the toilet and shower. She held a hand over her left eye. Slowly, she lowered the hand, revealing her swollen eye, stark black against her tan skin.

“Who did this?” Daniel whispered.

“The guy I stayed with before. He called me. We met.”

“And?”

“It’s fine Daniel. It’s just something he likes – he is usually careful.”

“You let him do this?”

“He pays very well.”

“Who is he?”

“Just some guy. Does it matter?”

“Yeah, I want to know where he lives.”

“And what will you do? Punch him?”

“I’ll call the fucking cops on him.”

“Then the cops will get me, too.”

“What then? What do you want me to do?”

“It’s okay Daniel. Stay away from this.”

“It is not okay. What, are you just going to keep letting this happen?”

“What if I do?”

“You can’t stay here. Not if you do this.”

Daniel stormed to his room, throwing the door open.

“Daniel, wait!”

“You want to stay? You stop.”

He slammed the door, shutting out any further protest.

The door creaked, admitting a soft light. Daniel stirred from uneasy sleep as Angelina stood silhouetted in the doorway. He made no move as she closed the door behind her and carefully sat on the bed beside him. After a moment of careful silence, he offered her more space and she slowly joined him in the bed. They embraced, their fully clothed bodies cooled by the autumn breeze through the window.

***

“It wasn’t the first time. She’s been hit before – and worse, I’m sure.”

“I know. But she can’t just use me – I’m trying to help her.”

“She doesn’t want to be helped. You’re not Prince Charming, mate.”

“She’ll do it again. Dammit, I know she will.”

“It pays the bills and keeps her fed.”

They looked out together, letting silence replace the conversation.

“Look,” Felix began after a long pause, “Been meaning to tell you – I’m going back to Brisbane.”

“Why?”

“Dad’s in the hospital – he had a stroke.”

“Holy shit!”

“Hey, now – I don’t want you all worried. He’s holding up, for now. My contract is up soon – I need to help my family prepare, just in case.”

“I’m sorry to hear …”

“Please. It’s all right, Daniel.”

“Still, damn.”

“No kidding.”

A long moment passed before Daniel spoke again.

“You think I can get in?”

“The boss already approves – your interview will be just a formality.”

“I don’t know what to say. Thanks.”

“No problem.”

***

“That’s good, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, but it means that I have to move. So what about you?”

“Ah. I wanted to tell you – I might also move.”

“Where?”

“I don’t know yet. I called a lot of friends after … our night together. I will try to find different work.”

“Really?”

“Daniel, I cannot promise anything. If a client pays well…”

“Seriously, you’d do it again?”

“Maybe. I don’t know.”

“You must have saved up some money by now. Why sell yourself?”

“It’s just a job for me. There is somebody …”

She looked away, but Daniel gently clasped her face in his fingers, turning her eyes back to his.

“Who?”

“My grandmother. She’s very old – she has no one else.”

“Really? What about the rest of your family?”

Angelina shook her head, “My mother died when I was small. I’ve never met my father.”

“That’s awful. How is your grandma? She’s sick?”

Angelina nodded. “She has to stay in the hospital. She has no insurance.”

Unable to think of any sufficient reply, Daniel hugged her, their tension at last giving way in the long embrace.

Hours later, they were both awake, again lying clothed on Daniel’s bed.

Cicada screeches filled the air as they each spent a moment in contemplation. Finally, Felix spoke softly.

“Maybe you just shouldn’t think about her – or any girls – for now.”

“Maybe not.”

Slowly, they walked down the path together. When they reached the stone bench before the pond, Felix sat on one end, facing the pond. Daniel sat on the opposite side, leaving most of the bench between them as Felix turned to speak.

“Wish I could stay. I’m still hungover, and I’ve got extra classes in the morning. Guess when I found out – go on, take a guess.”

“You found out today, by a text message in broken English.”

“Holy shit, you’re psychic! I’m pulling the midnight run on Master English if they keep it up. Won’t do it now – still got my fucking student loans.”

“I hear ya.”

“Take care!”

Daniel waved goodbye, and then was left alone. He took out his supplies and absently sketched the pond in front of him. He sank into the work, letting it fill his world.

“Good sketch!” The soft voice jarred him, his hands covering the sketch. Angelina now stood behind him, her dark t–shirt and jeans far more conservative than her clothes those weeks ago. With her light makeup and jet black hair, she was the girl from the subway, not the lady of the evening. She smiled at Daniel, and he awkwardly returned it.

“Nice to see you,” he stammered, “What brings you here?”

“Temple is nice,” she said. She then pointed toward the unoccupied end of the stone bench, raising an eyebrow in a silent question.

“Sure, yeah, of course,” Daniel said, gesturing for her to sit. He took his hands off the sketchbook, now eagerly revealing his work.

Angelina also had her book – the one she had dropped on the subway. Selecting pages with care, she showed her own work. As with Daniel’s drawings, most of her subjects were temple gates, mountainsides, and relics of ancient Korea. Much of their talk turned to the Chosun Dynasty and earlier ages of Korea’s past.

The sunlight slowly vanished, and it was soon too dark to carry on. In the fading light, Daniel led the way down the path, back toward the city streets. When they were nearly at the end of the path, Angelina stumbled, and Daniel was quick to help her. Moments later, back on solid concrete under a dim street lamp, Daniel found he was still clasping her hand. He marveled at how easily their hands fit together, how right it felt.

“I’m sorry,” Angelina said, at last letting her hand slip from Daniel’s, “I must work tonight.”

Daniel sighed sharply, a scowl flashing across his face. He bit his lip as he reclaimed the calm of the pond before the temple.

“I’m sorry,” Angelina repeated, “I was bad come here?”

“No, no. I’m glad we met away from … work. But don’t you … you know, want to quit?”

As she sat on the opposite end of the bench, Daniel’s day at Master English quickly fled his mind. He wiped sweat from his brow, smiling as he regarded the sketchbooks stretched across the stone bench. He watched Angelina work intently with her pencil, watched her hair as it swung in the summer breeze.

They continued to exchange glances and smiles as they worked. She was capturing the pond, the temple, and sprawling mountain landscape behind it in dark graphite, her work stretching across one sheet in her new, oversized sketchbook. Daniel turned to a sketch of her sitting cross–legged before the pond.

As he further fleshed out the drawing, he realized how much he didn’t know about its subject. Her real name, her hometown, how she had become …

No. Daniel thought, biting his lip as he lifted his pencil away from the paper. It doesn’t matter – she is who she is.

“I realized I haven’t called Dad for a while,” he said, “I really should.”

It wasn’t a complete lie – the thought of calling New York had occurred several times over the last week, usually just as he had started teaching a class.

“Ah, I see! I call you tonight – remember you. Uh, remind you!”

“Thank you – that’d be great.”

His smile seeming to satisfy her, she returned to her drawing. Daniel smiled as well, contentment filling him as he watched her work.

***

“I need your help.”

Daniel stood as she ran to him, kicking fallen leaves from the path as he strode to meet her. Her hair was a matted mess, plastered to her scalp and dripping beads of sweat on the back of her neck.

“What’s happened?”

“My whole street’s been shut down. There are cops everywhere!”

“What? But – it’s legal, isn’t it?”

“It was! There is a new law. We thought it bullshit! Police took our madam.”

“Is it just here? Couldn’t you work somewhere else?”

“It’s all over Korea.”

“How serious are they? You don’t have to pay a fine or go to jail, right?”

“I was lucky – they only warned the girls. They told us, ‘find other jobs’.”

“What about your place – your room?”

“I left – I had to. I’m staying at … somebody’s house. He will not let me stay.”

Daniel’s chest clenched as he imagined the deal Angelina had made to secure her temporary shelter.

“You should have come to me sooner,” Daniel said evenly, “I would have said yes.”

“I thought it wouldn’t be right.”

“It’s right to help a friend, isn’t it?”

***

“It’s just until she finds a job. She sleeps on the couch – like a roommate.”

“You’re too close, mate. I bet she’s still fucking for money.”

“She can’t, now.”

“Of course she can, she’ll just be more careful. She can make more money now!”

“Well maybe it’s okay – maybe I want to be with her anyway.”

“Look, I’ve known guys in open relationships. I don’t think you’re one of them. I think you want a nice girl – I even know one.”

“You do?”

“That’s why I wanted to meet you today. I got a new job lined up – I’ve been teaching Saturdays at this place called English First. It’s all high-school kids and adults. No little kids, no bullshit – they always pay on time.”

“Nice!”

“Yeah, I know! Anyway, there’s a teacher there – she’s super sweet. I even turned down a date – I wanted her to meet you.”

Daniel raised an eyebrow, taking in Felix for a moment. Really, Felix?

“Hey, now – it’s just an introduction. I think you would work well together, that’s all.”

I don’t need your pity, Daniel almost said. With a sigh, though, he forced his lips into a smile.

“Okay, I guess I could meet her … hey, they don’t need any more teachers, do they?”

“No, sorry mate.”

“Aw, too bad.”

“Yeah, sorry. Anyway, I’d love to set up a meeting, but not with Angelina around. Sorry to say it – she’s got to go.”

***

Daniel turned and stood sharply as she entered, his chair banging against the computer desk behind him. Her hands covering her face, she ignored Daniel as she raced past him into his bathroom.

“What’s wrong?”

No answer came from the other side of the door. Daniel knocked loudly, but the only answer was the sound of running water. Daniel shook his head. He looked for something to do. He settled on the computer, which still showed various teaching jobs available in the tabs of his browser. He closed everything, promising himself that the search would continue in the morning. The bathroom door opened just as the computer finished shutting down.

Angelina stood in the steam issuing from the open door. She had her clothes on, apparently having undressed and dressed again in the tiny space between the toilet and shower. She held a hand over her left eye. Slowly, she lowered the hand, revealing her swollen eye, stark black against her tan skin.

“Who did this?” Daniel whispered.

“The guy I stayed with before. He called me. We met.”

“And?”

“It’s fine Daniel. It’s just something he likes – he is usually careful.”

“You let him do this?”

“He pays very well.”

“Who is he?”

“Just some guy. Does it matter?”

“Yeah, I want to know where he lives.”

“And what will you do? Punch him?”

“I’ll call the fucking cops on him.”

“Then the cops will get me, too.”

“What then? What do you want me to do?”

“It’s okay Daniel. Stay away from this.”

“It is not okay. What, are you just going to keep letting this happen?”

“What if I do?”

“You can’t stay here. Not if you do this.”

Daniel stormed to his room, throwing the door open.

“Daniel, wait!”

“You want to stay? You stop.”

He slammed the door, shutting out any further protest.

The door creaked, admitting a soft light. Daniel stirred from uneasy sleep as Angelina stood silhouetted in the doorway. He made no move as she closed the door behind her and carefully sat on the bed beside him. After a moment of careful silence, he offered her more space and she slowly joined him in the bed. They embraced, their fully clothed bodies cooled by the autumn breeze through the window.

The Faces They Wore by TCC Edwards

Part 2

He was almost free of the alley when there was a wide, welcoming smile ahead of him. Daniel returned it, despite the sudden tension gripping his insides. The girl was standing inside one of the many glass doors, holding it open as he walked toward her.

“Hey,” she whispered, “Come in?”

Her smile became coy as she held out a delicate hand. Daniel clasped it without thinking. He quickly stepped in with her, closing the door behind him.

The girl led him away from the large window, through another door in the back. There was a single bed, covered with a simple white sheet. There were two chairs across from the bed, and next to them, a dresser with a large mirror. Condoms decorated the top of the dresser, offering several sizes and flavors.

“I am Angelina,” she said with that mischievous smile.

“Daniel,” he answered, without thinking.

“Okay, Daniel.”

She named her price, and Daniel blinked. Felix was right, he thought; it really isn’t that much.

Daniel’s hands shook as he took out his wallet, exposing the wad of cash he had withdrawn at the subway ATM. He bit his lip as his heart raced. I need to know. It’s time to find out.

He quickly counted off the money for one hour with the girl. He added a few extra bills, but still felt a tinge of guilt as he passed the money over.

Her dark brown eyes scanned the bills as her fingers counted. She nodded, winking at Daniel as she walked toward the door.

“I must give money – you here – wait!”

She disappeared down a narrow hallway that Daniel hadn’t noticed on his way in to the room. Daniel’s hands were shaking as he examined the condoms. He picked up one, running his fingertip over the package as he sat on the bed.

Angelina returned quickly, closing the door again behind her. She smiled, and Daniel fumbled with the condom wrapper. As Angelina closed the space, she removed her sheer black top and the black bra underneath. Daniel’s heart leapt as she took the condom, deftly removing its wrapper with practiced fingers. Any objections were quickly banished from his mind as she pushed him down to the bed.

***

“You didn’t! So that’s why you left the bar early.”

“Yeah, well – I’ve been thinking about it all week.”

“I’ll bet you have!”

“I don’t know. I mean, sure, it felt good, but what about her?”

“Her? She’s fine. She got paid, and hey, who’s to say she didn’t like it? Couldn’t be any worse than our jobs!”

“I don’t know. I feel bad about it, you know?”

“Then don’t go again. You were curious, you tried it. You know what it’s like – you won’t be nervous when you meet a new girl.”

Daniel groaned as he was pressed into the side of his seat by passengers crowding in. The blast of cool air from the conditioner above was cut off as the crowd filled the empty space before him. The doors closed, and a sharp jerk threw several passengers back a pace.

There was a thump as a large black purse appeared at his feet. Lipstick, a mascara pen, and a small phone were scattered around it – Daniel quickly leaned forward to catch the lipstick just as it rolled away. Another pair of hands helped him gather the items and place them back in the purse. As the other hands lifted the purse, a small, spiral–bound book was revealed underneath. The book was open to a sketch of a temple with a serene pond before it.

The girl’s phone buzzed just as she was putting it in the bag. Her eyes missed the sketchbook as she opened the phone and answered. Daniel took the book carefully, admiring the sketches. On the page opposite the temple were pagodas and a rough outline of a temple gate. Daniel looked over to the girl. She was still engrossed in the call.

Daniel turned a page halfway, finding a sprawling mountainside detailed on the page underneath. Halfway up the mountain sat a small, lonely shrine.

The girl next to him snapped her phone shut. Daniel snapped her book shut just as quickly as she turned to him.

“Oh…” she said as she regarded both him and the book. Her eyes flashed anger for the briefest second, but it quickly gave way as she wore her practiced smile. Daniel swallowed. Even without the layer of porcelain makeup, that smile was unmistakable. It was a smile that had visited his dreams every night over the last three weeks.

Angelina smiled shyly, cradling her bag as though worried the book would escape again. She spoke carefully, in equally broken English.

“You go there?”

“Yes, it’s near my school.”

“You like my draw?”

“Sure. You’re a great artist.”

Angelina giggled, covering her mouth with her free hand. As the train slowed again for another stop, her smile was again the sly smile of her trade.

“I here get off. Nice to meet you again.”

She winked, leaving Daniel stunned. She was out the door and lost in the large crowd as Daniel realized that this was his stop. He dashed out just as the doors began to close, scanning the faces and backs of heads around him. It was useless; she was already lost in the tide of commuters.

***

On the stone bench with his sketchbook open, Daniel tried to recover the serenity he had often found at the temple. Her face was on the page before him – an outline sketched from memory over the week since the subway encounter.

I meant nothing to her. Why do I care?

In his mind he saw her sitting before the temple, drawing in her book. He imagined gently greeting her just as she finished sketching the pond.

He quickly packed his book and pencils. Eyes fixed on the path down the mountain, he headed back to the city and the subway.

She again led him into the small room. Her face was stoic as he counted out the money, again adding extra notes.

“Could we just talk?” he asked as he passed the notes.

“Okay,” Angelina said with a shrug, “You wait.”

She disappeared as she had before, leaving Daniel staring at the condoms on her dresser. He shook his head, instead removing his backpack and setting it next to the bed as he sat. Angelina returned with her pleasant smile, closing the door behind her.

“English not good, sorry,” she said as she sat next to him.

“Okay, I speak slowly,” Daniel replied in Korean.

Switching between English and broken Korean, Daniel told of his visits to various temples, always with his sketchbooks and supplies in his backpack.

Near the end of their time, Angelina pointed to Daniel’s backpack. “Want to show me?”

With a shrug, he said, “Okay, sure.”

He took his sketchbook out, opening to the familiar temple. Angelina sat next to him as he flipped the pages back to the beginning.

“That is Gyungbok Castle – in Seoul?” she asked at one picture.

“Yeah – I visited last vacation. See this here? I had to draw that – it’s on the ten thousand won bill.”

“Yes, I draw that too.”

Her eyes went to the clock on the wall, and Daniel thought, hoped, that the slight flinch he saw was disappointment.

“Time over,” Angelina said, keeping her light tone.

“Yeah,” Daniel said as he stood, “But you know, I could come again.”

“Just for … talking?”

“Sure.”

For a brief moment, Daniel swore he saw a real smile spread across Angelina’s face. It was gone quickly, however, replaced with the coy fantasy she wore for her customers.

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]]>http://www.tccedwards.com/read-the-faces-they-wore-part-2/feed/0538Read ‘The Faces They Wore’ (Part 1)http://www.tccedwards.com/faces-they-wore-1/
http://www.tccedwards.com/faces-they-wore-1/#respondWed, 16 Nov 2016 13:00:49 +0000http://www.tccedwards.com/?p=526Time for another of my published works, serialized for this webpage.

This week, I begin sharing The Faces They Wore, a story I published as part of Nothing Too Familiar by the Busan Writing Group. This work really brings in a lot of my experience in Korea, I think, as I tackled some of the cultural differences I’ve heard of through my friends and experienced myself.

The Faces They Wore by TCC Edwards

Part 1

Daniel zipped up his jacket as he shivered in the mountain air. Felix sighed, his eyes drifting across the vista.

“You weren’t having fun at that wedding,” he said, “I know she was at the school before I arrived – you two dated or something?”

“I wish. I was crazy about her, but she wanted to be friends. Like all the girls back home.”

“Fuck, that’s rough. But hey, you know what you can do…”

“Yeah, yeah – you told me already.”

“It’s no biggie, mate. Just go to the streets around the love motels near the beach. Show your cash, get some lady in the sack. No different than a one-night stand, right?”

“Huge boobs, exactly! I’m helping her set up the Valentine’s stuff tonight. We got a thing going – just bunkmates for a bit, you know?”

“Just like that, huh?” Daniel faked a smile, “Keep it safe, I guess?”

“Don’t worry; I never tell them my real name. See you Monday!”

Daniel stifled his polite chuckle as Felix turned away. As he watched Felix turn to the path down the mountain, he wondered if Felix had really been joking. Why does someone like Felix get all the girls?

Daniel walked along the stony path before the temple. The doors of the main shrine were open as he passed before them, allowing a glimpse of a golden Buddha with colorful paper lanterns hung above his head. The polished floor before the Buddha was empty, with only a single low podium and microphone visible through the wooden doorway. Daniel stepped on the low stone stair just outside the frame, a sharp sandalwood scent filling his lungs as he examined a bowl with sticks of incense set just before the Buddha. No different than a one–night stand? No. Of course I won’t do it. Shaking his head, he turned away from the Buddha, walking around the small pond set into the center of the stony ground before the temple. He allowed himself a last look at the peaceful place before descending the tree–lined path down the mountain.

***

Felix and the orange–haired girl were a blur as they danced. People jostled and bumped Daniel from all sides as the world of the bar warped around him. Couples danced tightly, rubbing and grinding.

He found his seat at last, his jacket still draped over it. He stood next to the chair, grasping its back as he looked around the tables at the sides of the bar. Couples and groups drank, managing conversations through the intense music. There. She’s alone.

There was a girl at the bar, the seat next to her now empty. Just talk. If I could just talk – I don’t need more than that, do I? Moving quickly, he took the empty seat just as the girl emptied her drink.

“Buy you another?”

She quickly looked him over.

“No thanks.” She turned to the bartender and ordered, not giving Daniel another glance.

“Oh.” What more could he say?

Daniel stood awkwardly, stumbling back to his seat. He dropped in, barely noticing the jacket as he sat on it. He poured the last shot from the soju bottle still waiting before him. Should I find another girl? Or will it be the same damn story?

He heard Felix’s suggestion in his head again, as he had so many times over the last month. Haven’t I waited long enough? I could have a taste, just a hint while I wait for the right girl.

He stood. Somehow, he navigated his drunken haze and found Felix. Felix looked up, and Daniel shouted a quick goodbye over the techno thumping. Felix waved as the girl pulled him close for another grinding dance.

He stumbled down the filthy street, fumbling with the zipper on his jacket in the chill breeze. The subway had cleared some of the haze in his head, but his steps were still slow, carefully measured. On this first trek down the first alley, he barely noticed the women smiling coyly through neon–lined windows. Instead, he checked every corner and shadow, fearing that someone he knew might see him. It’s not too late, he thought. I took a wrong turn; I wanted to see this place for myself. He could still escape from this foolishness.

Sighing, he turned and followed a parallel alley back the way he had come. Time to go – I’ve had my look. He strode back, fixing his eyes on the street at the end of the alley and avoiding the pink neon haze at the edges of his vision.

He was almost free of the alley when there was a wide, welcoming smile ahead of him. Daniel returned it, despite the sudden tension gripping his insides. The girl was standing inside one of the many glass doors, holding it open as he walked toward her.

And now, the second half of Painted Blue Eyes! This story was was published in June 2015 as part of eFiction Vol. 06 No. 04.

I turned to the painting, scanning its faded colors as my mind worked. My hands clenched and relaxed, my stomach churned. Finding no answers, I snatched the painting and stormed down the attic stairs.

***

Motes of dust hung in a beam of gold pouring in through warped glass. The battered table at the side was bathed in the light, my mother’s unfinished works now showcased for an audience of one. Next to those rough works was a blank canvas I had found and put to use as I tested pigments and reaffirmed long-neglected skills.

Two weeks had passed since that afternoon in the attic. I wanted to leave, I was ready to endure the bus ride to campus and arrive well before the semester began. I nearly left her alone in her family’s ancient house, nearly left her to sort out the details in the wake of her brother’s death. Instead, the mystery compelled me to stay. A need to know, despite the betrayal that churned within. I turned to the canvas, channeling raw feelings into brushstrokes in the solitude of creation.

Steps sounded behind me. My back was still to Auntie as she pulled the room’s other old chair over the bare stone floor. A breath escaped her as she sat near my workspace. Without looking, I knew she was gazing into the painting I had placed on one of the easels among Mom’s old supplies.

“You still haven’t touched it,” she remarked softly.

“Need to practice. Been a while since I did this without a computer.”

“Ah.”

I continued painting, refusing to break from the soothing work. The other chair creaked as Auntie shifted. After a few more strokes of my brush, I broke the silence.

“Something to tell me?”

“I wanted you to know,” she whispered, “Your mom and I were so close before she married. She was so … set on marrying and having a kid, just like everyone else. I was the one who set her up with my brother. I thought that way, we’d still see each other often. I missed her after the wedding. I was often … jealous.”

“Jealous?” My brush stopped, but I still didn’t turn.

“My hair was never that red. I hated my freckles – I thought they were a disease.” She chuckled dryly, her voice growing distant. I turned to see her talking to the painting, her eyes glazed as she continued, “You see the way she curled up my hair – I’d be a rare day if my hair looked so nice. And that dress was absolutely filthy and worn out – it was a hand-me-down, like all our clothes back then. But you know, if I ever painted her, I’d give her wings and a halo.”

I turned to her now, raising an eyebrow. I knew somehow, but still had to ask, “Just … how close were you?”

Auntie looked down. She shook her head, stammering several times before letting out her answer.

“Close.”

As I studied her face, she rose to meet me with that familiar sternness. She would not speak of it more – she could not.

“Dear Lord,” I whispered.

“Aye,” she sobbed, “Please. I’ve got to tell you now … I need to confess.”

I was still holding my brush, paint dripping from its tip onto the desk. I quickly set aside the paints and supplies, turning my attention to her. She reached over to me, and I clasped her hands tightly. I kept my face stoic as I looked into her eyes.

“It was back when your mother had her exhibitions, and your father was working with the police. I quit my old job at the greasy spoon – I moved in to look after you.”

“I remember,” I said with a nod.

“It was summer. You were at camp with the Scouts – and good thing, too.” She shuddered, swallowing as she began again. “Her bloody teeth clattered on the floor when she hit the bottom of the stairs. She dragged herself up, grabbed that damn painting like it would save her. Nail came right out of the wall, and she was back on the floor with the painting on her face. She didn’t get up again.”

My hands tightened around hers. I had to keep myself together, had to let her finish.

“It was a stupid spat. I never meant to …”

Tears traced the wrinkles under her eyelids. Her mouth twitched. Her eyes were on me in anticipation. She straightened her back, the tips of her grey curls shining as they met the stream of sunlight.

“You… You killed her?”

My mind filled with countless images of Auntie helping me through cuts and scrapes, or offering me wisdom when my heart was heavy. In my mind, she wore that stern face through those moments, and I knew it now for the mask it was. Behind it was the woman who pushed my mother down the stairs.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry Gregory, I …”

“You’re my second mother! You’re all I have left! I trusted you, worshipped you.”

“Please, I know. I feel it every day. That’s why I raised you. Why I never complained when you needed money, why I always tried to listen.”

“Out of guilt?”

“Out of love! You are her son – I loved her, I love you.”

“So much you’d push me down the stairs?”

My stool clanged to the floor as I stood. She stood as well, shrinking back from me.

“Gregory, never! It was an accident!”

“I want to believe that!” I forced a deep breath. I lowered my voice, forcing more care into my words. “I want to believe it was an accident.”

“So did your father,” Auntie said, wiping away tears, “I offered to confess, to go to jail, but he wouldn’t have it. He convinced himself it was an accident, and that was what he told everybody. Folks around here listened. They never forgot his days as chief of the force.”

“But he knew you fought before?”

“He never admitted it.”

“Stubborn to the end,” I whispered.

We were somber as we stood in the sunlight. My breath began to slow as my hands slowly unclenched. She looked down again, and I let my eyes wander about the grey brick walls around us. After several moments, she turned to me again.

I returned to the old house several times that semester, helping Auntie while maintaining careful silence. When I wasn’t needed, I confined myself to the basement. Aunt Beatrice watched patiently at times. She began helping silently – retrieving supplies from cupboards or buying new brushes and paint. Later, she prepared new canvasses or mixed paints as I worked, always without saying a word.

On my final visit, the house was barely recognizable. Most of the furniture was gone, and new woodwork had removed many of the groans from the floors. Only the basement had survived remodeling, but it would soon be emptied.

It was our final session. Aunt Beatrice was now sitting at her practice canvas, smiling slightly as the light through the window found her paintbrush. Her other hand showed me the palette I had given her, where she mixed the various hues she had bought or found among the drawers under Mom’s workbench. I looked at the spot on the canvas where she had tested the mix with a few tentative strokes.

“It’s perfect,” I said flatly.

I took the palette and dabbed my paintbrush, but stopped an inch from the painting. So far, I had only cleaned the blood and restored the colors it had hidden. I was now touching up unblemished work – trying to improve on my teacher’s art. I bit my lip, watching as bright blue welled on the fine tip of the brush, gathering in a droplet that would soon drip to the newspapers covering the stone floor.

“It’s okay,” Auntie whispered, “She’d understand.”

I nodded, steeling my nerves. A few, precise dabs brightened up the blue of the girl’s eyes. When I had finished, the eyes were brighter than the idealistic sky around her.

We both stepped back from our seats to let the sunlight saturate the restored painting. It was her again. The crimson was gone, cleaned away and replaced with her peach–colored skin. Her eyes blazed with new life – a look that was now reflected in the eyes of the woman next to me.

“She looks … I look … so young.”

“Yeah, well, I kept as much of Mom’s work as I could,” I chuckled awkwardly.

“Look,” her smile dissolved in the afternoon light, “I can’t ever expect you to … to forgive what I did …”

I took her hands, cutting off any further stammering. Looking into her eyes, I shook my head deliberately.

“Thank you for helping me,” I said evenly.

She nodded in reply. After careful silence, she turned to the painting.

“You’ll visit me at the home?”

“Not right away.”

“Aye. You’ll need time.”

“Yeah.” I shook my head, quickly changing to a safer subject. “You know, I’m surprised you went with that place. You hated it!”

“Things change.”

“Yeah.”

“You know,” she gestured to the painting, “Your Mom would love it.”

There was a flicker in the painted blue eyes in front of me. They were watching, one last time.

Later, after returning the painting to its proper place for the short time before the move, I would try feel her watching me. Many years after, when the painting hung in my own house, I would often look to the painting, but I would never feel those eyes again.

In Mom’s basement, just as that moment was fading, I turned to my Auntie with a hint of a smile.

]]>http://www.tccedwards.com/painted-blue-eyes-part-2-of-2/feed/0508Read “Painted Blue Eyes”, Free! (Part 1 of 2)http://www.tccedwards.com/read-painted-blue-eyes-free-part-1-of-2/
http://www.tccedwards.com/read-painted-blue-eyes-free-part-1-of-2/#respondWed, 02 Nov 2016 00:36:49 +0000http://www.tccedwards.com/?p=502With my ongoing work taking up much of my time, I’ll be sharing some of my previously published work here on my site!

While helping his Aunt Beatrice prepare to sell her old family home, Gregory discovers one of his dead mother’s paintings in Beatrice’s attic. The painting is smeared with his mother’s blood, and only Aunt Beatrice knows the true story behind it. Gregory is forced to choose between his love of Aunt Beatrice, his only living family member, and knowing the truth behind his mother’s tragic death.

Here is the first half of the story – the second half will go up next week!

Painted Blue Eyes by TCC Edwards, Part 1 of 2

The painting filled my mind as stale air filled my lungs. I hadn’t seen her in ages – the fiery, unnamed girl who had watched my childhood mischief with her painted eyes. I couldn’t say why I felt those eyes on me again as I crept up the short ladder.

In the cramped space between ceiling and roof, I stepped around furniture older than any living relative. Rocking chairs and antique tables were hidden under filthy rags or tangled in cobwebs. I came to an ancient brown sofa, its seats bandaged many times over with duct tape. My breath stopped.

A painting sat in the center of the sofa’s worn seats. My eyes, still adjusting to the gloom, at last registered its faded colors. I let out a sigh. It was younger than the work that weighed on my mind. This one showed me as a freckle-faced 10-year-old – the first work Mom I had finished together.

In my memories, Mom sat behind me on the stool before the canvas, directing me with delicate hands. The day we finished, just as she was conducting my final brush strokes, I first saw the bruise under the sleeve of her shirt. When we worked on other paintings after that, I stole glances at small scrapes and bruises, hidden just under her sleeves or the collar of her shirt.

She never acknowledged my glances, and I never gathered the resolve to ask. How many wounds? How many scars? I wondered many times over the years, especially in the final weeks of Dad’s life.

I wondered still as I stared at my younger self, catching a tear in the corner of my eye. The memory left quickly, though, as the older image of the red-haired girl refused to be pushed aside.

I then found another frame, this one under a threadbare towel and sitting on a rickety easel next to the sofa. She’s there. Her painted eyes were waiting behind that towel.

“Young man, what are you doing?” Auntie’s voice jolted me, drawing my hand back from the towel. Behind me, framed in the light from the hole in the attic floor, Aunt Beatrice shoved clenched fists into her sides. “I told you to start with your old bedroom,” she said, “Did you look through all the old chests?”

“Yeah, I’m already finished,” I protested, “I wanted to see what’s up here. Looks like a lot of this old stuff is heavy or fragile.”

“I’ll deal with this old stuff when I’m good and ready. I put most of it up here just fine, I’ll have you know.” She smiled tightly, and spoke softly, “Had to make room for my little rascal nephew to run all over the place, didn’t I?”

“Well, we’ll have to do something about it before …” I caught myself as she glared again.

“Before I go to one of those dreadful homes?”

“Hey, I’ll find you a nice one, I promise. But we may as well go through this stuff now …”

“No!”

I flinched. Her glower softened, but she kept me locked in her gaze for several heartbeats. It was the same glare she used when I was much smaller, the same one that struck fear into the heart of a child caught in mischief.

“Fine, fine.” I threw up my hands.

Then, as Auntie’s eyes relaxed, I felt her eyes on me. I turned my head to the towel, examining the outline of the frame beneath it. Before I could catch myself, I blurted out the question.

“What’s under the towel?”

“Never you mind, Gregory!” Even as she said it in her familiar stern tone, her glare shifted. There was the briefest flash in her eye. Fear? I couldn’t say why I pushed further – some subconscious knowing drove my mouth before my mind could fully approve the words.

“That painting – I sold it! I let it go at the flea market for a quarter!” She sighed, adding in a barely audible whisper, “Never knew what you saw in it.”

Her eyes shied away from mine. A floorboard creaked as I shuffled to her, clasping her shoulder. She turned a sad smile to me, speaking more softly.

“I’m a terrible liar.”

“That’s why the Lord loves you, Auntie.”

“Oh, but you shouldn’t, Gregory. I didn’t want you troubled by it.”

“What happened to it?”

She shook her head, gesturing toward the painting. She stared blankly as I pulled away the towel, neither flinching nor protesting further.

She was there. Her hands were clasped at her scrawny belly. Her straw hat was perched on her long strawberry curls. Those eyes, though – the bruise I should not have seen flashed in my mind. Dark blue, like those eyes were now. I could not linger in that dark revelation, though, for a worse blight drew my gaze down her face. Crimson brown was smeared over the freckles of the girl’s left cheek, twisting her once cheerful expression into a macabre half-smile.

“Blood.” My eyes darted to Auntie, and she answered with a curt nod.

“Your Mom’s.”

“When she fell?”

“Aye. At the bottom of the stairs – damn painting fell on top of her.”

“She really did fall? Dad didn’t hit her?”

“Your father never hit your mother,” she said evenly.

I raised an eyebrow.

“He blamed himself, there’s no denying. He had his stroke and was bedridden not long after.”

I nodded. That was the story I had always known – one mother dead from a random accident, one father consumed by grief and left comatose after a stroke.

“I knew he and mom argued a lot,” I said, “I wanted to believe he didn’t hit her.”

“If only he’d let you know him better…” she looked down, leaving the thought unfinished.

“I asked him every time I visited the hospital. I hoped he’d wake up and tell me.”

I shook my head. I quickly gestured to the painting, changing the subject.

“Why’d you keep it?”

“It’s funny, you know. I got rid of nearly everything of hers – couldn’t stand to be reminded. But that picture – I couldn’t bring myself…”

As she trailed off, I saw unfamiliar distance in her eyes. My Aunt Beatrice never compromised, never gave ground. This woman before me looked down, her grey curls hiding her glare. With her hands clasped below the sag at the belly of her floral housecoat, her posture sparked a connection my mind had never realized.

“It’s you!”

“What?” Her eyes went wide. As she bit her lip, my mouth went slack. Slowly, I turned toward the painting, gesturing to the young girl.

“I meant,” I spoke slowly, “The painting is you.”

“Oh! Yes, of course! Didn’t you know?” Relief washed over her face, and she turned her keen eyes back to me. “Your mom worked from a Polaroid of me, way back before you were born. Surely I told you the story?”

“There’s more you aren’t telling.”

“What?” she snorted, “Are you a damned cop now?”

I shook my head as her glare pierced the dusty air. Creeping suspicion was now a certainty, rooting itself in my gut. I reflected her glare, steeling myself against it in a way my child self never could.

“I can’t …” she swallowed, “I … I wanted you to know. Maybe that’s why I kept the damned thing.”

“Wanted me to know what?”

She turned and ran down the stairs, leaving me alone before the girl’s eyes. I nearly followed her, but stopped. Somewhere in my confused thoughts I knew she would never tell if I pushed too far.

I turned to the painting, scanning its faded colors as my mind worked. My hands clenched and relaxed, my stomach churned. Finding no answers, I snatched the painting and stormed down the attic stairs.

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]]>http://www.tccedwards.com/read-painted-blue-eyes-free-part-1-of-2/feed/0502Other Works by TCC Edwardshttp://www.tccedwards.com/other-works-by-tcc-edwards/
http://www.tccedwards.com/other-works-by-tcc-edwards/#respondSat, 15 Oct 2016 01:16:45 +0000http://www.tccedwards.com/?p=491As I work on the Far Flung Novel, I’d like to re-share some of the other fiction I’ve worked on.

After a horrible accident, Sean rushes toward one of the two front doors of his parents’ car to open first. The story diverges into two possible timelines – one where he chooses the right side, one where he chooses the left. And yet, somehow, the two divergent paths keep crossing over …

Daniel, a lonely foreigner in Korea, gives in to peer pressure and hires a prostitute in the red light district of Busan. Once he’s had his night with her, he thinks it’s over … until fate brings them together again, away from her nighttime work. He discovers a common bond – but is it strong enough to hold their strange love together?

While helping his Aunt Beatrice prepare to sell her old family home, Gregory discovers one of his dead mother’s paintings in Beatrice’s attic. The painting is smeared with his mother’s blood, and only Aunt Beatrice knows the true story behind it. Gregory is forced to choose between his love of Aunt Beatrice, his only living family member, and knowing the truth behind his mother’s tragic death.

I am drafting a novel of Far Flung, and you can see where I’m going with it. Over at Inkshares, I have the first 7 chapters up today. My regular readers will notice many differences between this novel-in-progress and the episodes I’ve posted on this blog. First of all, I’ve gone with a third person POV for the novel, as that will allow me to bring the reader more detail and better characterization. The blog episodes will remain as first-person log entries with the occasional transcript – the plan is to have the blog episodes tie-in with the trilogy of novels.

Did I just say ‘trilogy’?

Oh yeah. You see, this first novel is now called Far Flung: Castaways, and it will cover the events of Episodes 1-12 on this blog. Characters will be fleshed out, events will be expanded, and some new events will be added. This novel will take the colonists from being ‘lost in space’ to a temporary home on a rogue planet. All I can say about the second novel is this: notice my use of the word temporary.

What about this blog?

I’m paying for it, so I better do something with it, eh? The episodes that are up here will stay up, with new episodes to follow soon. It’s hard to write both this novel and the episodes, but I’ll do my best. I’ll likely edit the existing episodes somewhat to reflect some changes to the story. I’m working to ensure that the major events in the blog version still happen in the novel; the main changes will mostly be in pacing, characterization, and background detail.

]]>http://www.tccedwards.com/see-the-current-work-on-far-flung-at-inkshares/feed/0484Far Flung will return, in novel form!http://www.tccedwards.com/far-flung-novel-in-progress/
http://www.tccedwards.com/far-flung-novel-in-progress/#respondSat, 24 Sep 2016 02:26:35 +0000http://www.tccedwards.com/?p=481I’m still working on Far Flung, and it will return…

As a Kindle eBook! I’m writing a book that ties up the narrative of the first 12 chapters, and fleshing out new details for the characters, settings, and events. If you’ve read the series on this blog or elsewhere already, my aim is to give you a richer, more detailed look into the universe of Far Flung. For people who haven’t read Far Flung before, the story will stand on its own – you won’t have to read the online story to appreciate this new offline book.

After the Kindle release, I’ll look into print runs and other outlets as well.

I do plan to keep releasing episodes on this blog at a later time. For now, this book is getting my full attention.